


Drabble Snack Pack: Clichés & AUs

by Cesare



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-24
Updated: 2009-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cliché & AU drabbles, originally written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/mcshep_match/59809.html">2009 McShep Match Drabble Challenge</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabble Snack Pack: Clichés & AUs

"That's not Colonel Sheppard," Rodney said, hitting a higher pitch than he'd like his voice to reach.

"I know it is hard to believe," said Teyla, "but Ronon and I witnessed his transformation."

Rodney stared at the slothlike creature lolling on a low tree limb. Its hair-- fur-- looked plush, luxurious; it'd be just Sheppard's luck to turn into something the locals used for rugs. At the back of its head, the fuzz spiked, mixing with feathers leading down its back to-- "Are those wings?"

Sloth-Sheppard grinned with his new, blunt round teeth and started climbing.

* * *

John deserved a commendation. He kept his composure throughout local greeting ritual #38157-- anointing the shoulders of his fellow Tau'ri and receiving the same favor in return.

Rodney's strong, deft hands on his neck and shoulders made John bite the inside of his cheek. He almost lost it massaging Rodney's broad shoulders, carefully rubbing out knots, the fragrant oil shining on milky skin.

But he made it. Until Rodney stood and (after all they'd been through together, jeez) self-consciously crossed his arms and sucked his stomach in.

Fortunately, the locals thought that the kiss he planted on Rodney was a good omen.

* * *

The city's on high alert, lights flashing, alarms blaring, certain death hanging over their heads, so: Tuesday, basically.

"I'm getting too old for this!" Rodney shouts, swapping crystals, rewiring circuits.

"Maybe Atlantis heard you," John says later, trying not to stare. Rodney's maybe eighteen; lanky, with lots of wavy brown hair.

Later, Rodney corners him. John can't stop glancing at his younger body, thin, sharp, fragile.

"Nobody ever turned me down when I looked like this," Rodney says. "So...?"

"Rodney," John says, exasperated into honesty. "If you were ninety, I wouldn't turn you down."

Rodney smiles the same as ever.

* * *

Sometimes John wondered why Rodney McKay, self-professed genius gynecologist, had to share office space with Ronon, an acupuncturist, Teyla, ayurvedic yoga instructor, and John himself, psychoanalyst.

John paused, steaming cup of coffee at his mouth, as Rodney's voice rang through the suite. "This is the third time you've come in here with cystitis. Look, tell your boyfriend or girlfriend or vibrator to ease up! A vagina is not a Slip'N'Slide-- you can't just keep _hurling things down it_ just because it's wet."

Then again, sometimes it didn't seem like much of a mystery at all.

* * *

John went down to Bioneme to preview his order.

"Look, I really don't need the preview," he told them on the phone. "I've always been happy with Bioneme's products."

"It's our policy, sir," they said politely, "and it's really for your benefit, to ensure your satisfaction."

So here he was, led into a cubby to view his new biobot.

"Here we are. Designation MK3841859, Meredith," said the concierge.

John watched the bot run through the standard range of expressions. "His mouth is crooked."

"You checked the box for idiosyncrasies."

"So I did," John agreed. "Yeah. I think I like it."

-

John went for the basic ownership transfer this time. He'd done those fancy ceremonies that cost extra in the past, and they never made much impression on him.

It was always different to see a biobot with its personality activated; John knew to expect that. But he'd never realized how much of a difference there could really be, before. The idiosyncrasy option was relatively new.

"I'm so glad you skipped the stupid ceremony," the biobot told him in a voice that was pitched low, but not really low enough to go unnoticed. "I can't wait to get out of here."

-

In the course of the transfer, the concierge said, "Designation MK3841859, Meredith." To John's surprise, the biobot made an irritated face. It was fascinating to watch, its eyebrows knitting, mouth slanting in a momentary grimace.

"You don't like your name?" John asked afterward.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's more commonly a female name," said Meredith.

"Gender matters to you?"

"Of course," said the biobot. "It matters as much to me as it does to you. You ordered a male model this time; didn't you want a masculine personality?"

"Guess I hadn't thought about it like that."

Meredith rolled its-- his-- eyes.

-

"Sam? Dan? Pete? Ben? Tom?" John suggested.

"Is there a reason you gravitate toward common mid-century variations derived from Biblical names?" Meredith asked.

"Just what comes to mind."

They ended up visiting a website.

"Andy," John said.

"No robot puns," Meredith decreed.

"Hugh."

"I include Star Trek references under the previous rubric."

"Did you hook up with the internet and eat a dictionary? And Wikipedia?"

"If you enjoy playing dumb, I can cater to that preference," said Meredith, "but I am familiar with your profile, which includes your education and IQ, _Doctor_ Sheppard."

"Damn," said John. "You got me."

-

"Rodney," the biobot decided.

"Yeah?" John didn't have any associations with the name. (He'd already had to veto Steve and Todd.)

"Its derivation has a neutral meaning, which I prefer. It's a common name for a Caucasian male, but not so common as to cause confusion when you address me. If you're amenable, that's my choice."

"Rodney," John tried it out, looking at the biobot, who gazed back evenly.

That idiosyncrasy option was something. John indicated what he wanted on the forms, but Rodney's face was nothing like he expected; the uniqueness was so much better.

"Okay," he agreed. "Rodney."

* * *

"Rodney," John said, "you know how to work human stuff, right?"

Before he could think better of it, Rodney answered, "Of course! The principles are very simple for a feline of my intellectual capabilities."

John's tail swished high. "Great. So will you help me open the door?"

"What? Why?"

"I hear cats in trouble out there."

"That's an excellent reason not to go!" Rodney protested.

John's whiskers twitched. "Next time there's gooshy food, you can have mine. Deal?"

"...I'll think about it."

Curling up next to him in the sunbeam, John groomed Rodney's cheek and purred.

* * *

John rolled his eyes as the dickwad behind him at the symphony bitched about crappy acoustics and John's hair blocking his view.

Finally John turned. "Look, do you mind?"

The dickwad wore a sportcoat over a t-shirt, for crying out loud-- though it did look nice stretched across his chest. He followed John's gaze and scowled. "Oh, sorry, am I ruining your night with my plebian attire?"

"More like your big mouth."

But at intermission, tongue-kissing while they half-wrestled in the bathroom stall, John decided he was totally okay with the guy's big mouth.

* * *

John's had no shortage of experience in his young life, but rooming with Rodney McKay is like living inside the Spice Channel.

Rodney always has guys around, making out on the battered sofa while John stares at his homework and wonders why he, who lost his virginity in the back of a Porsche at thirteen, gets less action than Rodney, man of a million Star Trek novels.

As he gets to know Rodney, though, he wonders more about why Rodney sleeps with so many guys and always eats lunch alone.

"Rodney," he starts saying at noon, "wait up."


End file.
